Raise the Heat: A Forbidden Office Romance (Beastly Bosses)

by Cassia Leo

I try not to figure out if he really emphasized the word “that” or if I only imagined it. But whether Cristian thinks I’m stupid doesn’t change what I think. And I was definitely stupid not to understand what happened when Edward visited my parents’ house in Battersea last Christmas.

  It took a lot of prodding and threatening to get him to admit he’d found some pictures of Priya in a box in my parents’ guest room. He had never met her when Priya and I were together.

  Edward refused to admit to orchestrating a cock-up by bringing the Forked acquisition to my attention and recommending I hire Alice.. But I imagine that, as soon as he saw how much Priya resembled Alice, a plan formed in his head to use this to hurt Alice and me.

  I wish I could say I’ve completely written him off, but my days of holding grudges are over. I’m too bloody tired to care about Edward’s immature scheming. Honestly, these days I can’t be bothered to care about anything. Well, anything except Alice.

  “So, what are your plans after the funding goes through?” Cristian asks as he slides the tablet toward me and points at a few places where I need to sign and initial.

  “I’ll probably go back to London once I find an executive chef to replace me.”

  He leans back in his chair as I continue scrolling through the pages, initialing here and signing there. “You’re giving up?”

  “I don’t think the American restaurant business is for me,” I say, glad I can keep my face pointed at the tablet so he can’t see the utter defeat I’m feeling inside. “I probably got in a bit over my head for a bloke who dropped out of uni. I reckon I need to go home, study up on American corporate law before I give it another go.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the business.”

  I look up from the tablet, and he nods toward a framed photo of Alice and her brother on his desk. “She’s flying to Paris tonight.”

  “Properly buggered that up, huh?” I remark, hoping he doesn’t see the way the five simple words he spoke have torn my insides to shreds. “You’re probably glad this is the last time you’ll have to see my face.”

  Cristian laughs. “You’re not like your brother. I could have killed him for what he did to my baby.”

  “How about me? Just going to break a few of my bones?”

  He shakes his head. “I have no desire to injure you. Well, not yet.”

  I try not to think too deeply into what this means. “Uh…thanks?”

  “I used to have a Jamaican customer who came to my restaurant almost every day,” he says, changing the subject. “She told me so many stories about her life as a young girl on the island. Beautiful woman who had a lot of great wisdom to share with me. But I’ll never forget the one thing she used to say the most: Those who don’t listen, must feel.”

  I stare at him for a moment as I attempt to parse out why he’s sharing this with me. “What does it mean?”

  He smiles as he folds his hands over his belly. “It means those who don’t listen to wisdom, or to their hearts, must feel the consequences of not listening. It means, those who don’t listen, must feel the pain of ignoring the truth.”

  I let out a heavy sigh as I begin to understand where this conversation is headed.

  Setting down the Apple Pencil, I push the tablet away and sit back in the chair. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Chapter 20

  ALICE

  As Minka approaches the exit for John F. Kennedy Airport, the going-away playlist she created for me on Spotify begins playing an upbeat version of “Les Champs Élysées.”

  “Can you please turn that off?” I say, trying not to sound rude, but it’s difficult not to when my emotions have been all over the map today.

  She taps her phone and the music cuts off. “I still can’t believe they would only raise your stipend if you started sooner. Like, don’t they know I have a wedding to plan? Who the hell do they think they are, stealing my maid of honor?”

  “Maybe you guys can get married in Paris,” I offer with more hope than I’ve felt for weeks.

  “Ooh! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she says, changing lanes as we approach Terminal 1 for Air France. “But my momma would kill me if my aunties couldn’t come to my wedding. Girl, you know how she is.”

  “I know,” I reply, unable to stop myself from pouting. “But a small wedding in Paris would be so romantic, wouldn’t it?”

  Minka is quiet for a moment, making me wonder if I’m being too pushy. But when she opens her mouth, I realize she’s just puzzling out yet another way to ask me the same question.

  “Are you sure you can’t work things out with Ethan?”

  I sigh as she pulls her Prius behind a line of cars waiting to unload passengers at Terminal 1. “Even if I wanted to work things out, I’ll always wonder whether he loves me or his memory of her,” I reply, unable to speak her name anymore after the last three weeks of emotional trauma I’ve endured.

  Minka shakes her head. “Again, I’ll remind you that the way you feel about her is probably exactly what Ethan worried about when he got involved with you. But he didn’t let it stop him, girl.”

  I hug my purse against my belly as I watch the passengers ahead of us disembark their vehicles and hug their loved ones goodbye. “But what if he was using me? I can’t handle another breakup like that. And what happens if I don’t get on that plane, only to find out Ethan doesn’t even want me back? I may lose the internship. I can’t put myself through another job search in this post-war-with-Edward New York.”

  I decided very soon after the blow-up at Forked that I’m no longer going to contact Food & Beverage magazine to set the record straight about what happened between Edward and me. Destroying Edward the way he destroyed me no longer holds the same appeal. Not only does my history with him seem insignificant now, I don’t have the energy to attempt to clean up the wreckage left in the wake of our breakup.

  Minka pulls forward and we’re two cars away from the loading zone now. “There is one little thing you’re forgetting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I haven’t seen you that happy since you met that O’Connell chef dude at The Strand. Remember that?”

  I smile as I recall what a spaz I was when I asked Chef Patrick O’Connell to autograph my copy of his latest cookbook.

  “And don’t you feel even the tiniest bit guilty for not telling Ethan about the internship?” Minka adds.

  And just like that, my walls are up again. “See? You had me with O’Connell, but you lost me with the guilt stuff. I’m not apologizing for demanding Ethan show me the respect Edward refused to.” I force a smile as she pulls up to the curb. “And this conversation is over, because I have a flight to catch. Au revoir, mon ami.”

  Minka appears on the verge of tears as she helps me lug my two suitcases and carry-on bag out of the trunk of her car. We drop them onto the pavement, and I sling my purse across my body so my hands are free. But as soon as Minka and I turn to face each other, we burst into tears.

  “You better call me every night, or I’ll go to Paris and hunt you down,” she says, wiping her face. “And that shit will be easy. All I’ll have to do is show everyone a picture of that ass, and they’ll lead me straight to you.”

  I let out a congested laugh. “I’m gonna miss our ride-alongs so much.”

  She shakes her head. “Hopefully Eric will get that promotion next week, so I can say goodbye to my Lyft-driving days for good.” She laughs when she realizes I’m too choked up to respond. “But you better never say goodbye to me for good. You better come back when this internship is over. Don’t make me come over there and kidnap your ass.”

  I smile despite the bleak thoughts racing through my mind. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  After a hug that lasts way too long, eliciting many angry horn blasts from the line of cars piling up behind us, I finally trudge into the terminal. Pulling up the digital ticket on my phone, I quickly check my luggage then make my way to the security line. I consider taking out m
y makeup bag to clean up any damage caused by that emotional farewell, but I decide against it. I’m not picking up any guys at the airport.

  When I’m past the security checkpoint, I find an empty corner at Gate B26 and sink into a seat, propping my feet up on my carry-on. Putting on my noise-canceling headphones, I open my DuoLingo app to continue my French language lessons. With the headphones on, I can’t really hear the words as I whisper them aloud, but I can feel them in the shape of my mouth and tongue.

  I’ve only been studying a few minutes, when I realize I’m no longer paying attention to the app. My mind has been overtaken with thoughts of Minka and how much I’ll miss her. And how awful I feel for making her think I’m definitely coming back to New York after the internship.

  The truth is that the purpose of the internship is to secure me a position with either Le Cordon Bleu or the partner who is sponsoring me. In my case, I’m being sponsored by Lazare Brasseries, a French eatery who is counting on the possibility I will choose to work with them after my internship is over.

  One third of my internship hours will be spent working at the brasseries and the other two-thirds will be spent at Le Cordon Bleu. In exchange for my labor and creative contributions, Lazare pays my stipend and any room and board expenses. I managed to negotiate a raise in my stipend from 600 Euros per month to 1200, but the compromise was that I have to start the internship in June rather than August.

  I know I should feel happy that the executive chef at Lazare is so excited to work with me. And I should be grateful that, unless something goes horribly wrong, I’m pretty much guaranteed my choice between a sous chef position at Lazare or an assistant instructor position at Le Cordon Bleu. But neither of those options end with me returning to New York to be with Minka and my family.

  Or Ethan.

  I wince at the thought of him. Just imagining his gorgeous face fills me with an unbearable physical longing, which the French refer to as la douleur exquise. The exquisite pain. There’s nothing exquisite about alternating between nausea, crying jags, and numb indifference.

  The fact that Ethan has made zero attempts to contact me over the last few weeks only solidifies my resolve to leave New York. He and Edward can have it. I’m tired of fighting to survive in a place I once considered home.

  Exiting my DuoLingo app, I open Spotify and turn up the volume as I tap on the going-away playlist Minka made for me. I scroll past the more upbeat songs and put on “Je Rêverai à Toi” by Kate Bollinger. But the longer I listen, the more I realize the lyrics are about a person who’s dreaming about someone who left them.

  I tap the skip button and I sigh as the song changes to “my future” by Billie Eilish. Hitting the button again, I land on “A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant to Be” by Jess Benko. This time I don’t skip the song, but only because my hands are too busy wiping tears.

  Jess Benko sings about looking at their soulmate who wasn’t meant to be and seeing a stranger, and I lean forward to hold my wet face in my hands. As I try to conceal my emotional breakdown from my fellow passengers, my heart leaps into my throat as I spy a pair of familiar sneakers through the spaces between my fingers.

  Ethan kneels before me as I raise my head to look up at him. “Hey, love,” he says softly, his voice tender, his eyes full of trepidatious hope. “You going somewhere?”

  I shrug as I’m instantly overcome with guilt at his reference to the internship I kept hidden from him. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

  I don’t want to assume I know his intentions, but my heart is beating out of my chest, spurred on by the same hope I think I see in his eyes.

  He takes my hand in his and my stomach flutters at the sensation of his warm skin on mine. “What I should have done the moment you walked into Forked. I’m offering you a job…as executive chef and full partner. Fifty-fifty ownership. I just came from your father’s office. They’re ready to draw up the papers.” He squeezes my hand as he gazes into my eyes. “Please come back. Forked isn’t the same without you. We need—” He stops short and an uncomfortable expression washes over his face as he steels himself for what he’s about to say. “I need you, Alice.”

  “You need me?” I say, unable to hide my grin. “The great Ethan Thorne needs me?”

  “Like a hole in the head,” he says, chuckling briefly at the glare I shoot in his direction. “I need your laugh. I need your beautiful smile,” he says, reaching up to brush his thumb across the ledge of my bottom lip. “I need your big heart. I need you as my partner, and not just in the kitchen. I need you everywhere. I need you more than anything and everything I’ve ever needed.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything. Everywhere.”

  My insides fill with warmth as all my doubts disintegrate into nothing. Ethan loves me more than he ever loved Priya.

  My smile disappears, and I’m overwhelmed with guilt. Minka repeatedly pointed out to me how Ethan must have felt the same discomfort when thinking of Edward and me together.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t—” I shake my head when he tries to interrupt me. “No, I need to apologize for this. I…I should have told you about the internship. It’s no excuse, but I was so afraid you’d fire me… But I’m so tired of being afraid.”

  “I can relate to that,” he says with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen. “Come back to Forked, love… Come back to me… Paris can wait.”

  I sigh and lean into his hand as he brushes a tear from my cheek. “I still have one question.”

  His eyes are wild with hope now. “What?”

  I take his free hand in both of mine and smile as I ask, “Fifty-one forty-nine split?”

  He laughs softly as he shakes his head. “I’ll give you a hundred percent, if that’s what it takes.”

  “Fifty-fifty sounds perfect.”

  As his mouth falls over mine, I lose myself in the moment. I’m unaware if anyone is watching us, nor do I care. All I know is Ethan’s kiss is very much like his love: passionate and risky, but also tender and sweet, with zero bittersweet aftertaste.

  Chapter 21

  ETHAN

  Thirteen years earlier

  It’s been more than three days since I found out about my grandfather’s death. Three days since I booked an urgent flight to Bangladesh, which leaves tomorrow night. Three days since I sent an email to my development training instructor asking if I’ll be able to take the exam on food-borne illnesses before I leave for the airport. Three days and still no response.

  It also doesn’t seem as if Garrett—Chef Garrett Evans prefers we call him by his first name—has checked his voicemail since the beginning of the term, seeing as his inbox always says it’s full and cannot accept messages. I’ve gotten bad vibes from Garrett almost from the get-go. Though I’m not looking forward to it, I have no choice but to visit his office on campus.

  As I exit the tube at Oxford Circus and head in the direction of Chef Academy London, I think about how I came to choose this culinary school. I hesitated when I found out the campus was less than a year old. My hope was that the extraordinary reputation they’d acquired at their Italian location was an indication they’d worked out the kinks in the administrative aspect.

  Acceptance to the advanced chef program requires all students successfully complete a rigorous seventy-five-hour development training course. The class requires HACCP—Hazard Analysis Critical Control Point—certification for food and fire safety as well as an extensive list of other requirements: knowledge of mise en place, knife skills, flavors, techniques and presentations. All this before I can even begin the chef program.

  Honestly, I’m beginning to question my choice to seek a career in the culinary arts. I’m more interested in doing it than studying it. It doesn’t help that Edward decided, at the last minute, that he also wanted to pursue a career in cooking. But he insisted we attend different schools.

  It’s almost as if he wants to turn our post-secondary education into a bloody competition.

 
It’s a good thing Priya agreed to join me at Chef Academy London, or I’d feel even more alone and uncertain about my career choice.

  Priya and I have been together less than a year. She hasn’t even met Edward or my parents yet. So, when she offered to apply to Chef Academy a few months into our relationship, I realized how much she loves me.

  Initially, knowing Priya’s decision would upset her parents, I refused her offer. Her parents are very traditional. They expect her to follow in her brother’s footsteps and become a barrister. Eventually, I realized I have no right to tell Priya what school she can and can’t apply to.

  And neither do her parents.

  Now, Priya and I are living together in London. Doing our coursework together. Cooking and doing the wash together. Afterward all the work is done, we engage in our favorite activity together.

  The receptionist waves me through as I head to the corridor that leads to the administrative offices at Chef Academy London. Taking the hallway to the very end, I turn right and find the third door on the right for Garrett’s office. Making a fist, I raise my hand to knock on the door, but I stop myself when I realize the door is slightly ajar.

  It looks as if someone hastily closed the door, not noticing the latch didn’t catch. If I knock on the door, that may push the door open, which could be an invasion of privacy. Living with a pushy mum like mine, I certainly know how mortifying it is to get caught having a wank.

  I’m about to knock on the doorframe instead, when I hear a familiar sound coming from inside the office. My heart pounds in my skull as I shake my head. It can’t be.

  It was definitely the sound of a woman moaning, but could it really be her?

  I shake my head again and step back as I realize that listening to this is a gross invasion of Garrett’s privacy. But the sound of another moan stops me dead. Saliva pools in my mouth as I’m filled with an intense revulsion.

  No, it can’t be her. It’s someone who sounds like her.